


Wrapping Paper

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Crossdressing Kink, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Holidays, M/M, Mirror Universe, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:37:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Khan has a low-key but very pleasurable Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrapping Paper

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Xmas fill for minsode [on tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/66814629392/musing) who asked for “Chekov/Khan […] where Pavel dresses up in cute girly clothes”. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

To be honest, he’d forgotten about it. The last holiday he ‘celebrated’ (and that is a _very_ loose term in this case) was well over three hundred years ago, and the first two years back were wrought with too much struggle and climbing up through the Empire to worry about dead traditions. No one around him celebrated them, certainly not the first officer he had last year—a Vulcan who would’ve found the entire idea to be utter nonsense. His new first officer, a more ruthless man willing to fight more than Spock ever was, asks him in the morning, “Mind if I skip my shift to submit for that physical Bones is still bugging me about?”

Khan stops in his tracks, halfway to the bridge, and glances at a broadly grinning Jim. “You mean the one you’ve been dodging for three months?” Jim Kirk _never_ willingly submits to physicals—in fact, Khan’s had to physically drag him there and restrain him more than once, for no other reason than to see the good doctor’s hands all over his pretty first officer’s well-built body. Here, the usual mischief is twinkling in Jim’s blue eyes. 

“I thought I’d wrap myself up in ribbon and give Bones a proper Christmas gift. I’ll make sure he leaves the camera running if you give me the time off.” It’s a bargain they both know Khan will agree to.

But at the moment, Khan’s eyebrows are knitting together enough to make Spock proud. _Christmas_. Even before the time ordeal, rising to the status of world dictator didn’t allow much time for the holidays. Jim _would_ be the one to bring it up. Jim lifts an eyebrow expectantly. For a brief minute, Khan considers ordering Jim to give him McCoy’s present. 

He only barely refrains; he has his own man he can unwrap. Later. He’s perfectly entitled to stripping and enjoying his underlings on the bridge if he so chooses, but he can wait until after his shift. He nods at Jim, releasing permission, and decides arbitrarily, “Be back at sixteen hundred.” Perhaps they can use the time left to arrange Khan’s own Christmas gift. Jim would be the best man for that sort of planning. 

Jim asks with the corner of his lips still in a smirk, “And if I’m not done?”

“I’m sure Mr. Spock would be more than happy to unwrap whatever’s left.” Khan quirks a knowing eyebrow; Jim flat out chuckles.

“Why do you think I’m opting for Bones first? I had a whole outfit to wake Spock up with this morning, and he told me Christmas is ‘just another illogical human fallacy.’ As far as I’m concerned, he’s getting coal in his stocking.”

“I must say, Kirk, I never thought you’d pass up a chance to fill Spock’s stocking.”

Jim laughs even louder, “Good one, Captain.” Khan nods. It wasn’t that clever, really, but Jim has an infectious way of bringing him down to guttural instinct. 

He picks up a steady pace again, still headed for the bridge, and Jim joins him halfway, deviating at the turbolift. He disappears into it with a curt nod: his way of saying ‘you’ll get that tape tonight.’ Khan looks vaguely forward to it. 

Khan settles into his chair in the middle of his bridge, the I.S.S. Vengeance looking starkly perfect and no different than any other day. Khan briefly pictures it draped in the cheap tinsel sold back in his time, and he has to stifle his snort. He was never a particularly cheery man. If Christmas comes back to this time, he’ll have to let it be through Jim instead of him. 

The majority of his shift passes normally, nothing out of the usual, their steady course through the Sagittarius Arm relatively uneventful. A small Klingon scout ship foolishly challenges them, and they destroy it. The whole ordeal lasts less than three minutes long. Khan spends much of the time staring at the back of Arex’s head, waiting for the shift to change and a smaller, more human, curly brown head to be there instead. Jim arrives before that happens, done up in his regular uniform as though he hasn’t just been off desecrating sickbay. He takes his usual panel behind Khan’s right shoulder, while Spock coldly glances at him. 

Khan ignores them with the same general disinterest he’s had for most of the day. Why he let McCoy get a scrumptious Christmas gift is now beyond him. It’s not something he should be dwelling on, but now that it’s started, he can’t stop. Why shouldn’t he force his crew into celebrating an ancient holiday of his world? His own ancestors might not have acknowledged it, but Khan was still exposed to much of it for the majority of his young life, and why shouldn’t he get presents and dress someone up in red with white trim? He could erect a synthetic tree in the mess hall and order everyone to pay tribute to him. Not his usual captaining style, but it wouldn’t be unheard of in the Empire. 

He’s still passing time with his festive daydreams when the turbolift opens again, and he automatically glances over to it. The brown curls he was waiting to see are mostly covered in the embodiment of all Khan’s current daydreams. 

“Keptin.” Pavel practically skips over to the captain’s chair, arms stiff at his sides, like he expects to need them there any second. He might. 

The skin-tight mini-dress he’s wearing barely covers the tops of his thighs, hooking just over his lap with the fuzzy white trim Khan was just thinking of. The fabric of the dress is pure red, looks velvety, and it’s cut straight across the top with the same trim, dipping into off-the-shoulder sleeves down the length of his arms. Red knee boots, a ‘Santa’ hat, and a frilly red garter belt around each thigh completes the outfit. Pavel utterly _beams_ at him and says, bristling with his usual youthful enthusiasm, “Merry Christmas, Keptin.” He bites his lip and waits for a response; he’s the only one that could come onto Khan’s bridge not in full uniform and not expect to be thoroughly agonized. 

Khan spends a good several seconds eyeing Pavel up and down before drawling, not giving away anything with his tone, “I wasn’t aware you celebrated Christmas, Ensign.”

“Oh, I do not, Sir,” Pavel quickly corrects, flushing slightly, and his smile wavers. Just because he’s the favourite doesn’t mean he can’t be punished. “I just... I zhought zhat maybe, because it was still tradition when you were...” he trails off and fidgets in place. The boots he’s wearing have heels and lacework up the sides. While Khan strings along his navigator, he crooks a finger, and Pavel obediently steps forward. 

Khan pats his side, signaling for him to turn around, and Khan continues evenly, “I’m surprised; and you didn’t even wait for the Russian calendar...”

Turning, Pavel glances over his shoulder, eyebrows cutely knit together. The dress has a corset back, which would explain the impossibly tight fit. All Khan would have to do is tug the bow loose, and it would all slip off. “Sir?”

“The Russian Christmas wouldn’t be for a few more days, Ensign.” Khan might not have planned for today, but it’s easy enough to do the backwards calculations. 

Pavel, looking supremely torn between obeying his captain and defending mother Russia, says, “No, it is today... Russia has zhe correct day for zhe holiday...” Of course it does. Khan lets the smirk form on his face, but he doesn’t bother pursuing the issue; it wouldn’t be the first time his ingenious Pavel got history completely muddled up where his homeland is concerned. 

Instead, Khan focuses on his latest gift. He reaches out to take hold of Pavel’s waist, running down it to clutch his hips, sliding back and down to cup Pavel’s round ass, the cheeks of which are just barely visible beneath the hem. Pavel gasps at the touch but stays perfectly still. Such a good boy. Always is. And so thoughtful, dressing up like this. Where was he last year? Oh yes, he wasn’t legal yet. Just got onto a ship this year. He’s barely legal now. Khan slips his fingers beneath the dress—ribbons run up the side, connecting the garters to what must be a belt around his waist, because they’re not attached to underwear. Pavel isn’t wearing any. As Khan spreads his fingers around two taut cheeks, Pavel looks back to murmur through thick lashes, “I was maybe hoping you would giwe me a present, too.” He glances down at Khan’s lap and couldn’t be more obvious.

There are very, very few times Khan’s said no to fucking Pavel on the bridge. There are even less times Pavel’s volunteered to be fucked in public, but he never protests, and he knows how much Khan enjoys it, enjoys displaying his power, enjoys claiming what’s his for everyone to see. Apparently, today is the day to break down conventions. 

Taking Pavel by the hips again, Khan pulls Pavel towards himself, and Pavel stumbles backwards, legs falling out beneath him. He lands in Khan’s lap, and Khan yanks him in, one arm around his waist and the other running down his thigh, while Pavel gasps and arches beautifully. His bare ass is digging into the bulge in Khan’s pants, and Khan makes sure he can feel it. Khan ducks his head over Pavel’s shoulder to nip at Pavel’s cheek, and Pavel moans, “Oh, no, Keptin, could I—?”

Cut off in a needy whine, Pavel drags his legs up, probably trying to hide his crotch from view. Khan wrenches them open, sharply aware of how Sulu and Arex, sitting at the helm below him, are trying too hard not to look around. Pavel whimpers, and Khan hisses at him, “No? And here I thought that’s what you wanted for Christmas. Or are you just a tease, coming on to my bridge dressed like a clever Orion slave without the intention of riding your captain’s cock?”

“No,” Pavel whines again, shaking his head—Khan wrenches the hat off and tosses it aside—festive though it is, he prefers Pavel’s pretty curls. “I-I would lowe to ride your cock! You know I would, Sir. I lowe it so much. I just...” He twists in place, neck curving as he tries to kiss Khan’s chin. “I want to face you today... please...?” Khan can’t help how wide his smirk grows. Pavel treats it correctly, like it’s a grave honour, and he begs so beautifully, rubbing his ass in place to show his willingness to please. Khan kisses his cheek so hard that it bends him to the side. Khan supposes this is the day for kindness. 

As soon as Khan nods, Pavel can feel it, and he pushes up to his knees of his own volition. He awkwardly climbs around in the tight chair, legs still straddling Khan’s lap, crotch still aligned, but now chest-to-chest. Pavel puts his hands on Khan’s shoulders and happily kisses Khan’s cheek, grinding into Khan’s lap and murmuring through more kisses and little nips and licks, “I prepared myself for you, Keptin, I am stretched and ready for you, anytime you want me, I could climb right on and—”

Khan’s already picking up Pavel’s hips. Pavel mewls like a giddy horse (reindeer? He’d look so cute with antlers), looking down as he slides his hands along Khan’s strong chest. Pavel undoes Khan’s fly with lightning efficiency. He pushes his hands inside as soon as he can, moans loudly, and looks up at Khan’s face, begging for permission. 

Khan kisses him chastely on the mouth—permission enough. Pavel works through the kiss, nimble fingers wrapping around Khan’s thick cock and helping to pull it out. As soon as it hits the air, Pavel’s up on his knees again. Khan tightens his hold on Pavel’s hips, not letting them fall. 

First, he scrunches up the fabric, right up to Pavel’s waist, until Pavel’s smaller, pinker cock falls out, bobbing in mid-air and tied with a little bow at the base—a makeshift cock ring. Pavel always seems perfectly happy to only come when given permission. There is a garter belt around Pavel’s trim waist, and Khan can’t help but chuckle—he’s certainly going to have fun with the synthesizer today. Just how much lingerie could Pavel look good in? Probably anything. And he’d wear it all, if told to. He makes a good doll. Just like he makes a good pet, and a good navigator, and a good fucktoy. He’s always eager to be anything Khan needs, and right now, Khan needs the young body in front of him. When Khan loosens his grip, Pavel reaches below to line up Khan’s cock. His fingers always feel so _natural_ on it, like he’s used to taming this beast. He lowers himself slowly, and then he’s shoving down, and he pops on with a gasp from himself and a feral growl from Khan. 

Khan instantly shoves Pavel the rest of the way—can’t wait—not with such a _hot_ , _tight_ ass swallowing him up. Pavel sinks right down, walls already spread and channel slicked up. His cheeks flush red immediately, pupils dilating, but he looks overwhelmed from the rush of sensations, not just pain. He lifts his hands back to Khan’s shoulders, holding onto the golden uniform, and Khan’s hands fall to Pavel’s bare, trembling thighs. Pavel’s breathing hard already, but making a sweet, crooning sound, and after a moment, he rocks his hips forward. 

He looks utterly blissful, and Khan can’t help but ask with a smirk, “Enjoying your present, Ensign?”

“ _Oh,_ ” Pavel moans, only full of praise, just like always. “It’s _so_ good, so _big_ , I am not worzhy...” Khan bucks his hips up, and Pavel cries out, bouncing with the movement. “Oh, yes! Da!” No one’s really _worthy_ of an enhanced, monster cock like Khan’s, but Pavel’s definitely close—definitely the tightest ass on the ship, the most energetic mouth, the most subservient pet. Not to mention the brightest mind and the best looking body. And those sounds... Pavel could put a porn star to shame. No wonder he usually avoids getting fucked in public; he inevitably draws every eye in the room, and Khan’s definitely got a possessive streak. 

Today, Khan looks aside as he slaps Pavel’s hip, signaling it’s time for Pavel to move. Pavel lifts himself up and drops himself down, crying out again and mimicking the movement a second later. Pavel works himself into a frenzy of thrusts, bouncing up and down in Khan’s lap and fucking himself hard on Khan’s cock, until the air is thick with the noise of slapping skin-on-skin and the wet squelch of a broad cock sliding in and out of Pavel’s rosy hole. While Pavel works, Khan does a peripheral sweep of who’s watching; just about everyone is _trying_ , though most attempt to hide it, not wanting to anger their commanding officer.

Khan slaps Pavel’s hip again, like telling a horse to go faster, and Pavel practically neighs and picks up the pace. The way his greedy ass sucks Khan in is nothing short of sinful. Khan lets his eyes roam back up to Pavel’s face, enjoying the blushing cheeks and half-lidded eyes and moist lips, ready for the taking. Instead of kissing him, Khan asks, “How did your lessons in Engineering go?”

“What?” Pavel gasps, still going. He’s never good at multitasking during sex, not like Khan can. “Oh, ah... I didn’t... I did not let Meester Scott touch me...”

“But you did go in this little get up,” Khan comments, pulling the top of the mini-dress down enough to expose Pavel’s small, pink nipples. Pavel keens and nods. His smile lights up instantly; he always _loves_ when Khan plays with his nipples. Khan doesn’t at all mind obliging. He lifts one knee, switching the angle, just so he can have more control of Pavel’s movement, and that makes it easier to keep track of as he bends down to run his tongue around Pavel’s left nipple. Pavel’s breath hitches, and Khan pats and licks the bud a few times before it pebbles. He sucks it into his mouth. He rolls it around on his tongue while Pavel cries out, head tossing back. Khan can feel his small cock hardening between them, but Khan doesn’t bother to touch it. He’s busy touching every other part of Pavel. He grabs the warm cheeks of Pavel’s ass and squeezes and kneads them while he lets Pavel’s first nipple go, drawling on his way to the other one, “So you didn’t let _anyone_ touch you?”

“Oh.” Pavel bites his lip; his voice is getting higher-pitched. This is always a tricky game with Khan; Pavel can never tell when Khan’s going to call him a tease or too easy, get after him for being stingy or grow jealous. Fortunately, he never lies, just words things differently. He admits slowly, in between gasps for breath, “Hi... Hikaru helped me do up my corset...” In front of them, Sulu’s back stiffens. Men have been left to die in the agonizer for less. 

“Ah, yes, your roommate,” Khan notes before sucking in Pavel’s right nipple. Pavel’s fingers fly to Khan’s hair, brushing through it, and he’s too incoherent to properly defend Sulu like usual. On any other occasion, Pavel would be tripping over himself to spare his roommate’s life, but here, all he can do is moan, ass clenching wonderfully around Khan’s cock. Maybe Pavel’s trying to distract him. Pavel curls into Khan’s head, and Khan pulls off of Pavel’s nipple, pulling away. He reaches down to adjust the top of the dress, leaving it beneath Pavel’s moist, erect nipples. The whole dress is just scrunched in the middle of Pavel’s body, all his private bits exposed. He looks every bit the sextoy Khan often calls him. 

Khan can understand why Sulu would risk everything for a taste of such a beauty, and he can’t help but call over to his pilot, voice amazingly steady for someone in the throws of sex, “Were your hands on my present, Lieutenant?”

Sulu, rigid as a block of ice, says, “No, Sir.”

“Oh,” Pavel whines, nuzzling into the side of Khan’s face, still bouncing up and down, “No, be nice, please, he was only trying to help, oh... ah... _K-Khan!_ ” His voice breaks off again. He’s getting more familiar, asking Khan to play nice and using Khan’s name. But then, he’s allowed to, usually just doesn’t because he’s a good little Starfleet lapdog: so _obedient_. He nuzzles harder into Khan and begs, “Kiss me? Kiss me, please?” Like he’ll go mad if Khan doesn’t. 

Khan grabs a chunk of his curls and kisses him so hard that Pavel screams, muffled in their mouths. Khan’s tongue dives right in, and he flattens Pavel’s and sucks on it, and he traces Pavel’s teeth and thinks he can taste the faint remnants of cinnamon. They’ll have to synthesize eggnog. When he lets Pavel go, Pavel’s gasping for air and still clinging to him for dear life. Khan chuckles and kisses his forehead, raking through his hair. While Pavel catches his breath, Khan decides aloud, “Since it’s Christmas, I suppose I’ll let you off the hook, Mr. Sulu. But do try to keep your hands of my property in the future.”

Sulu barks a particularly military, “Yes, Captain!” And he spares a glance over his shoulder, lingers far too long on Pavel’s ass, split open on Khan’s mammoth cock. Red-faced, Sulu quickly looks around again. Only one of Arex’s three hands is working, as though he’s concentrating on something else, maybe the constant sex noises falling from Pavel’s lips.

Khan leans his head back and glances around the bridge again. For some obscure, primal reason, Khan particularly gets off on knowing that everyone desperately _wants_ Pavel. It means that Khan has something of value, something others want but can’t have. His head tilts back further. He asks Jim, who’s one of the few openly _staring_ , “What do you think, Kirk? Think I received a good enough gift?”

Breaking into a wide smirk and eyes never once leaving Pavel’s trembling body, Jim says, “I think you lucked out. In fact, I think you should make holiday lingerie mandatory for some people.” And he glances backwards. As if on cue, Spock looks around, falters for less than a second, and returns to his console.

Spock is the only one clearly not straining to get a look, not inwardly drooling over Pavel. After briefly picturing Spock in the skimpy lingerie Jim would have him wear, Khan orders, “Mr. Spock, I believe you’re missing the show. Watch it.” Both of them know it’s an order. 

So Spock turns around in his chair and fixates his gaze on them. This seems to encourage a few others on the bridge to break and look. Pavel whimpers and curls in slightly, but he doesn’t once stop fucking himself. Khan strokes his thigh and pats his cheek and purrs, “Look at you, providing entertainment for my whole bridge. Good boy...”

Pavel turns to kiss Khan’s palm. He unsteadily falls forward and places a frenzy of kisses around and on Khan’s lips, and Khan lets him, knowing the poor boy would’ve come twice by now if it weren’t for the ring. Khan still doesn’t touch Pavel’s cock. He does run his hands down to lightly tug Pavel’s balls, and he runs his fingers along Pavel’s crack, and he plays with Pavel’s ass, and he slaps it a few times, but he doesn’t help get Pavel off. Pavel starts to clench his ass where he can, trying _so hard_ to please. It gets to the point where Khan, even with his all his enhancements and stamina, has to consciously hold himself back. He wants this to last as long as possible. He’d fuck Pavel clear to the end of his shift if he could, but as he knows from experience, Pavel would pass out if fucked that long. So Khan settles back and lets himself slowly build, lets Pavel milk him for all he’s worth.

Pavel mewls, and Pavel whimpers, and Pavel desperately kisses parts of Khan and murmurs terms of endearment and how wonderful Khan is, how lucky Pavel is, how much he adores the cock inside him. He says, breathless and raspy and near the end, “In R-Russia... Christmas... Christmas is more zhan one day...”

“I know,” Khan muses, and though Pavel knows he isn’t Russian, Pavel brightens with hope, and Khan kindly finishes for him, “Which is why you will surprise me in different sets of lingerie and beg me to fuck you on the bridge every day of it.”

Pavel nods earnestly, “Yes, yes,” like that’s just what he wanted. He leans his forehead against Khan, still bouncing up and down and moaning so gorgeously, “Can you fuck my mouzh, too? I want your cock and your cum for Christmas, Keptin, all of it, I will be yours all day—”

“You’re always mine,” Khan growls, and Pavel mewls like he knows, like he’s sorry, though Khan isn’t mad, just thickheaded with lust. He _is_ getting close, his stomach twisting and his mind getting higher, higher. But he nods—of course he’ll fuck Pavel’s mouth, he’ll do that today, as soon as his shift’s over, he’ll fuck Pavel all over both their quarters. He reaches to pinch one of Pavel’s nipples, and Pavel tosses his head back and screams. 

Khan _roars_. He comes in a sudden, torrential flood of _pleasure_ , bliss rushing through him into every last centimeter. He shoves Pavel’s quivering hips down and grinds into Pavel so hard, the incredible heat and pressure almost too much to take. Pavel wails while Khan bursts inside him, fills him and paints his walls. Even though Pavel is denied his orgasm, he sounds like he’s in utter ecstasy. Khan continues fucking him until every last bit is out. 

Then Pavel curls up against Khan’s chest, still hard and still impaled, and he kisses Khan’s neck and murmurs, too low for the others to hear, “Merry Christmas, Khan.”

Khan kisses him back. 

Khan picks Pavel up by the hips, lifts him off, and hisses when they separate, ropes of cum trailing between them. Pavel slips off Khan’s lap and hurriedly straightens his dress, and then he leans forward and bends down to Khan’s lap, licking all the mess away. 

Khan calls over him, “Arex, your shift’s extended until you find a replacement.” Because Pavel’s not going to be on the bridge while Khan isn’t. Or at all, for that matter. He’s too much of a distraction, and Khan can’t afford to be off duty for ten days straight. 

When Pavel’s done cleaning his mess and tucking Khan away, Khan grabs his chin and brings him forward, kissing his cheek. He tells Pavel in a warm, sensual purr, “Go wait in my bed until my shift is over. You will be allowed to come then.” Pavel nods happily, like he couldn’t have imagined anything he’d rather do. 

Even as Pavel hurries to the turbolift, there are thin trails of white creeping down his inner thighs, the dress not nearly long enough to cover him. He turns around in it, flashing Khan a final, completely adoring smile. 

The turbolift doors close around him, and Khan settles back in his chair. 

So he’ll go back to celebrating Christmas, after all.


End file.
